By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Illustration by Bob AulThe strike started several months ago. Like you, I was angered that (once again) corporate America was screwing workers. Those first few weeks, I saw the energy and fire in your picketing and truly felt for you. Even though I work in the same shopping center and saved time in my busy day by shopping at your store on my lunch break, I knew it was best to buy elsewhere, someplace that had not treated its workers so shabbily. So, like many others, I went out of my way to find food elsewhere rather than cross your picket line.
Lately, though, I drive into the shopping center to go to work and see you sitting on your asses gabbing with one another or on your cell phones. Your picket signs lie on the ground or are scattered on the outside tables with your bottles of water and drinks. On occasion, I've witnessed your lunchtime cookouts with your portable grill in the parking lot. Now you block not only the entrance to the store but also the driveway and the street in the shopping center.
If you must picket, then picket and be serious about your strike if you expect me to treat it seriously. But for now, get the fuck out of the way and clean up your mess. This has turned into the longest tailgate party in history.
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